


Your Guardian Angel

by FreshPrincessofCheyne



Category: DCU (Animated)
Genre: First Kiss, Little bit of humor, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshPrincessofCheyne/pseuds/FreshPrincessofCheyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce notices that Clark has been watching him an awfully lot lately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Guardian Angel

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to thank you all for your support with my other works; I really appreciate your comments and kudos, thank you very much, it means a lot to me! Hope you enjoy!!

It usually wasn't hard to tell when someone was constantly watching you. Clark thought he was being subtle, when really, he was making it obvious. Bruce began to notice it during League meetings. Superman would turn to glance at Batman, then look away, and continue the pattern and proceed to fiddle with his cape, acting as if he hadn't been caught. Bruce wasn't irritated that he was looking at him so much, he was furious because Clark wasn't paying any attention to what was being discussed amongst the Justice League. He focused more on what Batman was doing even when he wasn't doing a damn thing besides breathing. Especially when he'd shift or clear his throat, Superman would immediately turn to look at Batman as if he'd just dropped dead. Now, when he had taken his turn speaking his opinion, which wasn't often unless they were talking about tactics, Clark's eyes would never leave Bruce's; he remained unblinking, as still as a statue. Only when he'd lock eyes with Superman was when he'd look away, blushing. After the meeting he had meant to ask what the hell was wrong with him, but he had been needed in Gotham and left in a hurry.

That was when he noticed it the _most_. Whenever he was on patrol, he could feel Superman practically lingering over his shoulder. Now, if anything, Bruce was an observer. And Clark didn't seem to keen on hiding the traces of him constantly being around. He wondered what was bothering the man to the point of thinking that stalking _Batman_ was going to make everything better. To be honest, Bruce found it a bit flattering. And a little strange. Tonight, as he made his way through Gotham, he knew he was being followed. He wasn't just paranoid, either. He could especially feel Superman's presence when he defended a group of kids against men with knives and a need for money, then lectured them on how they shouldn't be roaming the streets this late. After finishing up, he ignored the glimpse of red cape he managed to catch as he hopped in the Batmobile and sped off. By the end of the night he was really beginning to wonder why the hell Superman lingered over him like some goddamn nightlight. It was infuriating; he was an adult, he didn't need to be babysat. He'd consult Clark tomorrow.

Clark didn't know why he chose to follow Bruce home. He raced after the Batmobile's trail as it left Gotham and entered the property of Wayne Manor. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn't stop watching Bruce for the life of him. He tried to convince himself that he was just making sure his friend was out of harm's way, but watching the man undress when he was in the safety of his cave seemed to convince him otherwise. He ignored his thoughts and focused more on Bruce once more skin was revealed as he stripped himself of his suit. He swallowed, Bruce's cave now feeling like it was a hundred degrees. Clark's tongue poked out to wet his lips as Bruce's fingers curled around the waste line of the tights he wore beneath the suit.

He slowly pulled them down, Clark's eyes bulging. He was left in nothing but tight underwear and Clark could see the outline of his cock and _Jesus_ \- his throat felt dry and he refrained from coughing. He didn't dare move an inch, in fear of alerting Bruce or the bats overhead.

Bruce made his way over to his shower, and Superman knew he should leave like _right now_ but he felt frozen in his spot, stunned. Now he had to stay, because he couldn't take his eyes off of Bruce's backside that was now exposed and absolutely _glorious_. He stepped inside the shower, and Clark could hear the water running, Bruce's body a chalky blur against the steam-covered glass. Clark almost choked when Bruce's soap-covered body was pressed against the glass, his ass visible. He was _not_ going to masturbate to Bruce in the shower while Clark was in his goddamn cave. That was just another level of creepy that he did _not_ want to reach. He couldn't say the same for Bruce though; he could see the frantic movement of his arm and that was when his heart truly stopped and he _did_ choke out, thankfully to quiet for Bruce to hear. There was an almost soundless moan that came from Bruce, and Clark tugged at the collar of his suit that was suddenly way to tight. The jerks of his arm became rough, the moans and pleas more frequent now and Clark could no longer breath. He had to look. Using his X-ray vision, he looked through the glass and nearly had a heart-attack. Bruce's head fell back against the shower walls, his jaw tight as he worked his cock viciously, supporting himself as his knees grew weak. Clark had never wanted anything more than to know exactly what Bruce was thinking. He'd trade any power just to have telepathy for ten minutes.

He licked his lips, then tugged the bottom one between his teeth. Bruce's heart was erratic, his breathing heavy. For a moment Clark was confused as to why one of Bruce's hands traveled lower, until he spread his ass, the tips of his index and middle finger pushing against his hole. He was practically drooling as he watched Bruce ease those fingers in, crying out when he curled them and hit his prostate. Clark absentmindedly palmed his rapidly swelling cock through his tight suit as he continued to watch Bruce, utterly frozen where he hovered. This was possibly the hottest thing he's ever witnessed and that wasn't a bluff. And he only wanted more as Bruce continued to massage his prostate, whimpering with each movement of his fingers, stroking his cock at an almost inhumane pace.

Then, the simple five-lettered word Bruce cried out was what put a stop to Clark's actions, his heart dropping, his breath catching in his throat.

“ _Clark_!"

Clark was gone in a zip, never looking back as he fled the cave.

*~~*~~*

Something had to have happened. Clark was purposely avoiding any eye contact- hell, _any_ contact whatsoever with Bruce for the entirety of a week. It wasn't difficult to tell when he was being ignored. After a successful day of defeating Luthor after he escaped prison, in the Watchtower, Batman approached Superman.

“Have I done something that I'm not aware of?” He asked, his arms crossing over his chest. He stared Superman down, impatiently waiting for an answer.

All Clark could see was Bruce masturbating and it made him quiet uncomfortable to say the least; he didn't particularly fancy an erection for a majority of the day. “Um, no. What would make you think that?”

Batman rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to call him an idiot and growled, “You've been avoiding me purposely for a week now."

 _Technically I've been stalking you, not avoiding you. There's a difference_ , he thought but didn't say. Because he knew if he said that, there was a high chance he'd get punched and it wouldn't be pretty. The fact that he was always spying on his best friend and just being downright _obsessive_ over him and he _still_ couldn't get the reality of what he was doing through his thick skull was beyond him. That type of behavior was frowned upon, _especially_ if you were the goddamn Superman.

“No, I haven't," he retorted.

“You're really going to argue with me on this?”

He cocked his head, listening (well _pretending_ to listen), and said urgently, “Got to go, Bruce.”

“Kent, don't you-” by then he disappeared, nothing but the wind to rustle Batman's cape, “-dare,” he finished with a sigh. Batman wasn't a detective for nothing, and when things like this happened, his skills were required.

Later that night Clark found himself in Bruce's bedroom, standing at the foot of his bed as the other man slept soundlessly, occasionally tossing in his sleep. He looked so beautiful when he slept. Younger; trouble-free. Whenever Bruce was Batman, it reminded Clark of the pain his best friend carried, the pain that created the Batman. And he would do everything he could to remove that agony that weighed him down, do anything to let him free. Over the course of a month or two, he realized how lonely he'd be if Bruce was no longer in his life and that was when his attachment began. It hurt him to know that one day, someone was going to get the advantage on Bruce and end his life without a second thought. He did not want that day to come.

So, as the hours passed by slowly, he watched Bruce and savored every minute he had the luxury of spending with the man. He almost expected Bruce to wake, screaming and sweating from night terrors. With every minute going by, he was more on edge, just waiting for Bruce to wake up hollering for his parents. The thought made him shiver, and he found himself inching closer to his bed, to him. Eventually he was sitting down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Bruce only stirred lightly, carefully rolling over opposite of Clark, his lower back revealed and half of his bum. Clark couldn't take his eyes off of Bruce's body; it was truly a work of art. Each scar told a different story, a different mistake. Leaning forward, he let his fingertips linger over Bruce's neck, then down the curve of his spine, and stopped at his lower back, before trailing back up. A shiver shook Bruce's body and he mumbled, stretching, then relaxing again. Clark splayed his hand over his shoulder blades once he was still again, treating Bruce's body as if it were made from porcelain. And to Clark, it was. He'd treat him just as delicately as well.

He was cracked, multi-colored porcelain, but still beautiful nonetheless, possibly even more stunning with his flaws. Clark did something unintentionally and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Bruce's bare back. Then, in the middle, then even lower. He left multiple kisses to Bruce's skin, giving special attention to the rather large scars and fresh bruises. It honestly hurt him to see Bruce's skin so torn and battered. He understood he was doing what he believed was the right thing, and Batman of all people knew the consequences. Even if the consequence was putting his life on the line everyday. The thought alone was depressing. When Bruce made a noise in the back of his throat and rolled over, Clark froze, waiting for those eyes to open and waiting to be caught in the act, but they never did. He took that as his cue and brushed Bruce's hair from his face, Clark's eyes shut as he pressed his lips to the man's forehead. Then, he was gone.

*~~*~~*

Bruce brought his cup of herbal tea to the garden and tugged a chair along with him, taking up a place where there was endless flowers and hedges and a fountain. It was a beautiful and quiet spot where he could forget the world existed for long enough to feel refreshed, the sound of running water surprisingly comforting. He had to rest after a recent run in with Killer Croc, resulting in a sprained ankle, three broken ribs and four different places needing stitches. He was sore and sighed out in exhaustion when he took a seat in the lawn chair, relaxing for what seemed like the first time in a hell of a long while. He glanced up at the clear night sky, the crescent-shaped moon a washed-out color against inky blue; a murky shade that was dotted with stars.

He studied those stars, searching for constellations, his favorite being _Perseus_. He enjoyed a heroic story once in a while. He loved old myths. They reminded him that even Gods were flawed; Gods made mistakes. Which made him wonder- if Gods gave constellations to heroes for their bravery and compassion and as signs of gratitude, Bruce believed Clark should be given one too. He imagined one day that Superman would be in the stars, his story to be carried for generations; after all, stories were never forgotten when the words had their own voice, told a tale the way it was actually lived, being re-lived over and over as much as the reader desired. And Superman didn't deserve to be forgotten. Everything Clark did was from the bottom of his heart and Bruce would say the same for himself, except he was more vengeful then he was compassionate. 

And Clark possessed the best power of all. He had the ability to write.

There was a slight shift of breeze against Bruce's hot skin, and he exhaled. “Clark, what the hell do you want?”

There wasn't a response for a silent moment, until Clark was hovering above the ground in front of Bruce, his cheeks ruby. He scratched the back of his neck nonchalantly. “I was just coming to, _uh_ -”

Bruce cut him off. “Save it. I just want to know what you think you're doing.”

“What I think I'm doing?”

“I _really_ hope you're not as dumb as you seem.” Bruce took a sip of tea and swallowed. “And stop hovering, my neck is sore.”

Clark sighed as he touched ground and took a hesitant step forward, occupying himself by playing with his fingers. He said a lot harsher than originally intended, “I was worried about you, okay?”

“Why? I'm not doing anything reckless.” When Clark gave him a look, he corrected himself. “Well, besides what I already do. There's no reason for you to worry about me.”

“There's plenty reasons to worry about you. Give it up and stop acting like no one cares about you,” he snapped. _He obviously took_ that _the wrong way_ , Bruce thought bitterly.

Bewildered, he shot back, “Excuse me?” Bruce sat forward, only to wince at the burn in his rib-cage. He let himself fall back into the chair again, not being able to ignore the advance Clark made, his arm outstretched to offer a hand to Bruce. He was on edge. And paranoid. A paranoid Superman was _not_ good news.

“Look at you, Bruce! You think I have no right worrying for you when you come home every night looking like-” he gestured wildly towards his fragile state, “- _this_?”

“It's my choice what I do with my damn life, Clark. Just because it causes you discomfort isn't a valid reason for me to stop doing what I'm doing. In case you've forgotten, I'm doing what _you_ do. I'm doing what I can to protect innocents and bring criminals to justice. So, I'm not invulnerable; _sue me_ ,” he finished sardonically, waving his hands around dramatically.

Clark was silent for a minute, slightly furious as he thought of a response. Then, he said in a tight voice, “I worry because I care about you."

“Then _don't_ if it causes you to stress so badly. Problem solved." He shrugged, his tea now abandoned and no longer warm. 

He huffed. “You're insufferable, Bruce.”

“Tell me something I don't know.” 

Clark's body tensed and his face curled into an ugly scowl. “ _Alright_ ,” he barked icily, his glare deadly, “I love you.” _How's that for something you didn't know?_  he gloated to himself, despite the unknown impact of his words. Now, that was _definitely_ something Bruce didn't know. And it was something that left him wordless, his heart suddenly ten tons as it sat in his chest, thudding uncontrollably. It took Clark a minute to realize what he had said and his anger immediately faded, his fury transforming into shock. Bruce's eyebrows raised as he ignored the throb in his muscles and leaned forward anyway. He was quiet, and Clark took a step back, knowing exactly what Bruce's silence meant, getting ready to shoot off into the sky before he received a serious bitching. Bruce jumped up, gripping Clark's cape before he could disappear like he had so many times before.

“Don't even think about it, Kent"- he played with the fleecy material of Superman’s cape before looking up to meet Clark's gaze- "because then I wouldn't be able to do this.”

He gasped unwillingly as Bruce stood on his tippy-toes and brought his lips to his, the flat of his palms on Clark's chest, right above the colorful crest. He could feel Clark's heartbeat beneath his calloused fingers like the rapid rhythm of a song, the kind you could feel in your own chest. Bruce's lips tasted of sweet tea and were astonishingly slow and gentle against Clark's, treating him as if _he_ were the one made of breakable glass. It made his heart leap.

He hadn't noticed, but he was now off the ground, Bruce in his arms as he slowly spun, his cape wrapping around their bodies like a crimson sheet. Pulling away when neither wanted to, Clark could see something in Bruce's smile as it reached his eyes; _happiness_. Actual happiness. He couldn't help himself and he kissed Bruce a second time, but more urgently this time. He hadn't realized how bad he wanted this with Bruce. Something stirred in Clark's gut and he grinned against the kiss, knowing exactly what that gut-wrenching feeling was. _Love_.

Bruce rested his forehead on Clark's. “What are you smiling about?” Even with his eyes shut, he could hear the grin in Bruce's voice. He put his arms around Bruce, pulling the man in for a hug. He didn't seem to mind and only nuzzled his head in the crook of Clark's neck.

He didn't receive a response but got a kiss to the top of his head instead.

“You know how I knew you were watching me, Clark?” he said causally, as if it was a normal occurrence when your best friend studied your every move like a hawk, watching you as you slept.

“ _Making sure you were okay_ ,” he corrected firmly, brushing the hair from Bruce's eyes.

Bruce said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, “Whatever,” then continued more quietly, “It was because at night, I felt safe. Like instead of protecting, _I_ was the one being protected for a change; my nightmares stopped because I knew you were there. And you've got to be pretty damn important to me in order to have the power to do _that_."

Clark pecked Bruce's lips, his eyes locked on breathtaking cobalt ones. “I'll always be here to protect you, you know.”

“Yeah I know, you big lug.” He tilted his head to catch Clark's lips again, until they were interrupted rudely. 

It was Dick. “Hey Bruce! You won't believe this, there was this- _oh_.” He was stunned into silence at the two about ten feet in the air in each other's embraces, seconds from locking mouths. He pointed at them as his eyes remained unblinking. “I called it. I _goddamn_ called it. I knew you two were fucking; thinking you were sneaky. Well, _I_ knew all along!”

Bruce rolled his eyes and sighed in annoyance, “ _Dick_. Go bother Alfred. He can actually tolerate you.” 

Clark was laughing.

Dick clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his finger at Bruce. “Say what you want, old man, but I was right even before you knew it.”

Bruce retaliated quickly. “I'll shove one of those Escrima sticks you use right up your ass if you don't leave in one second.”

“At least I won't be the only one with something stuck up my ass,” he said, throwing the two a suggestive wink. Clark ducked his head, his cheeks hot.

“That's it! Clark, let me down, now!” he squirmed in Clark's arms, desperate to lunge on top of Dick and show the little brat a thing or two.

Dick threw back his head and laughed. Bruce narrowed his eyes; he hated being mocked. “Alright, alright.” His arms were up as if he were surrendering as he backed away. “I'm gone.” He disappeared and then his distant voice yelled, “Don't forget the lube!”

Bruce snarled with gritted teeth, “I'm going to kill that bastard child. He's going to be Flatwing when I'm done with him."

“Let him have his fun, Bruce,” Clark objected.

“Oh, I will.” He smirked mischievously. “And if I have anything to do with it, he'll hear _our_ fun as a punishment.”

Clark's eyes widened and he was suddenly moving, descending fast enough to make Bruce a little nauseous. “Couldn't agree more. Let's get to it, shall we?”

That night, their fun consisted of a mean game of Scrabble, Dick forced to listen to the endless bickering between Bruce and Clark. If he ever wanted a ruptured eardrum again, he knew exactly what he had to do. 


End file.
